


where dreams don't die

by Laeana



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Broken Friendship, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fake Reality, Feelings Realization, Friendship/Love, Helping Each Other, Illusions, Implied/Referenced Grief, Love Confessions, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Memory Alteration, Partying, Porn with Feelings, Team Up, Trapped, Trying To Fix-it, Wishes & Desires, disbelief, “Strangers” to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:28:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: And, lying all, unconscious, trapped somewhere, somewhere else.A reality that isn't ours, that will never be theirs.Fools that can never be content with what they have.Nothing can save them from themselves now.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc & Daniel Ricciardo, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Esteban Ocon/Lance Stroll, Pierre Gasly & Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 19
Kudos: 38





	1. Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole work that became clearer, all thanks to my dear gc, ilv all <3

It's quite strange.

His first thought, above all, as he opens his eyes to what seems to be the most mundane day ever. Just one more day. 

There was silence in the room. 

His girlfriend asks him a question, her head tilted to the side, waiting for a clear answer, her eyes perhaps reflecting an impatient glow.

He was … he was lost. He was wandering somewhere that wasn't quite here.

“Max ? Are you okay my love ?”

Max doesn't immediately understand the concern or why she is saying that. Then he touches his cheeks and realizes they are wet. He cries, with big tears. He can't even stop them, he has no sobs in his throat, just tears escaping.

Why is he crying ?

He can't understand it, there is no logic. It’s as if his soul, his heart, were mourning the loss of something. Such a loss, so deep, that the sorrow has then to come out.

This life is missing like a devastating shine. A bit of reality that should be here but that seems to have vanished. A point that destroys all meaning in his life. But no matter how hard he looks in himself, he doesn't know what it is.

“Max …”

His girlfriend … Clara, his brain reminds him, Clara … hands him a tissue and runs a hand gently over his cheek. He feels uncomfortable with this contact but doesn't quite understand why. Because, after all, they've been in a relationship for four years, it's the longest relationship he's ever had.

He knows his family as well as she knows his, they started talking about kids and he has this ring hidden in the kitchen drawer just begging to get out-

“Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t understand. I just felt … like something very sad had happened. I don’t know what.”

Clara's face splits into an amused pout as she stands up, her dress hugging her figure beautifully, her curly brown hair swaying as she shakes her head :

“Yep, what a sad occasion. Celebrating your third world title is heartbreaking.” a playful glint seems to have lit in her eyes. “Or unless … is it tonight's dinner that worries you, Max Verstappen ?”

World champion ? He looks down for a moment and a flash hits him. It is true. The youngest driver to win a title and he continues his momentum. Many say he will break all the records set …

He struggles with the same floating feeling in his stomach. 

Family dinners. That's why … why he was dressed so well. They're going to a restaurant tonight. Yes. All the connections are in his head and he wonders why he didn't remember it sooner.

“Come on, we're gonna be late if we don't hurry.”

Clara squeezes him more and he nods. Here they are in his Aston Martin and they drive through the streets of Amsterdam to a neat and overpriced storefront.

Which reminds him of something.

The impression that it is not in the right place, that they are not in the right place.

“Are we in Amsterdam …?” his question out loud.

“Sure, idiot, where else do you want us to be ?” Clara laughs as she grabs his arm.

_I just hope it's not too fancy for you, I don't want to make you uncomfortable._

The interior is more understated than he would have imagined, but that doesn't surprise him for some reason. His parents are at a table and the sight should be familiar but it is not to him. Worse yet, it makes this strange feeling in his chest worse.

_I wish … they were there you know._

"So, ready ?" his father throws him, with a knowing air, when the rest of their group is busy.

He blinks, not understanding where Jos is going. He feels so out of the situation, out of him. It's weird.

“The ring, the proposal, all that ?” 

Oh.

He fumbles his jacket pocket before feeling a square shape hidden in it. The box. It’s true. It's time. They wondered a lot about it, when would it be the best time, if it wasn't going to ruin their careers, but finally … 

_I wanted to make it official, I know we had to wait. But nothing matters to me more than seeing you happy and today … today I want to be the reason for this happiness._

A certain nervousness which returns to him. He is not sure of himself. All those moments gone by. Is this really the best solution ? Can he do it ?

But then the whole room seems to be watching him impatiently, waiting for him to do what they all expect of him. Plain and simple, nothing else. They expect him to continue the course of his life, to follow the flow without ever drifting from it. Let him be just one more face among many others, wisely stored in a small box.

“Clara, I …”

_Do we really need complicated words ? I don’t think so. I just needed to tell you. I love you, Maxy. I love you so much, I'm not ready to give up on this._

Clara puts a hand to her mouth, eyes wet, ready to shed a tear as soon as he starts to speak. But it wasn't that.

It was a lot more.

It was two strong arms that held him as soon as everything went wrong, it was a smile that seemed brighter than the sun itself, it was words, soft words like velvet, and a voice and a laugh and sounds. And so much more and so much else. 

He takes a look at his surroundings, the people around him, the decor, the tables, the walls, the paintings and it looks like it. It really looks like it but it isn't. Because the person in front of him is not the right one. 

He realizes it now, but it's not who he wants in front of him. Who did he have in front of him ?

_I'm still so afraid of losing you. But I would never regret everything we've been through. You hear me ? Never._

A forgotten name ... that his brain is desperately trying to make survive. To bring him back. Something all his own, an idea.

Max looks around him and this scene is so fake he almost laughs. So he does what makes the most sense to him.

He turns on his heels and begins to run.

He runs as far as possible to the shore, until he reaches the water, the seaside and goes to the point where it runs aground at his feet. Calm, serene, much less hectic than he is.

Tears are back on his cheeks. He still can't contain them, they seem to have a lot to tell him. He felt too bad, he couldn't breathe but it wasn't him.

It was what he had almost become.

But he backed off in time. He never crossed the line. Because life wasn't worth living without him. Because it was his ray of sunshine, much more than a moment of lost passion, more than a fleeting madness, much more than a simple friendship that had survived a little too much, much more. They were more than that.

Red Bull. Their years together. Separation. Meet again. This feeling of emptiness that gradually fills and a name-

Oh.

Daniel.

“Daniel.”

He remembers it now. A heat that spreads in his chest. How could he forget, forget him ? His Daniel. 

How is this possible ? Why isn't he there by his side ? He should be there by his side, there is no other way. But everything ... from his very existence to every one of his facts seems to have been erased.

Here.

And Max doesn't want to live without Daniel. He can’t. A visceral need to see him again, to talk to him. To kiss him … It doesn't make sense. Because he didn't dream it, he feels the Aussie has always been there. Throughout his life.

So this world seems pretty fake.

As if someone was laughing at him.

It probably is.

The quickest way to find out, the most tempting. It's crazy, it's terribly crazy. But at this moment his only other certainty is that none of this is real. It's just that it can't be. No matter how bad it seems, it isn't.

A precipice. Several rocks bordering the trail. And at the bottom, the dark and mysterious water. His last attempt. Perhaps ? 

Always too impulsive.

His feet leave the ledge without any harm. The last thing he hears is Clara's cry, his name called again, then comes the pain.

He crashes. A mistake ? Was it too risky, did his imagination set out a goal from the start, a goal to get away from the routine ?

No …

His suffering is almost unbearable but it seems brief. He feels the water entering his mouth, without being able to do anything, and it’s the unconsciousness that seems to cover everything in its path.

* * *

  
  


His eyes snap open.

Max coughs, the sensation of water still too present. His body is numb but that’s far less worse from the fire that ran through him earlier. He is alive. Damn, he's alive. Was it the right bet ? Was this the right bet ?

His surroundings. He's in a room, a sort of hall. As he gets up, he realizes that he is not alone. From here he can see Lando and Alex, all apparently unconscious. Why is he the only one awake ? What happened to make them all end up in this same state ?

His memories are confused. Too fuzzy. 

But their situation is similar. Well, they may be. So they all have to be locked away somewhere in another reality. Trapped, unable to get rid of it. Suffocating in a fog of illusions.

Then his eyes fall on Daniel.

Daniel, lying on the ground, looking paler than he has ever been, curls scattered around his head, totally inert. His only instinct is to rush to his side.

“Daniel ? Dan … my love, please …”

But not a gesture, not a reaction.

He pursues his lips. Distraught. His heart beats at his temples. He doesn’t know what to do. He bites back a sob. What if he can't do it ? What if he can't help him ? He is afraid of his own helplessness.

He strokes his boyfriend's cheek before leaning his forehead against his, closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and an unpleasant feeling sets in in his stomach.

As if he was already no longer ... quite present in reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm meeting your expectations ... quite nervous but yet happy to start a new project. Honestly, as soon as I'm finished, I'm starting something else isn't that a bit much I wonder, haha.
> 
> Thanks for reading, see you for the next part !
> 
> tumblr : laeana


	2. Daniel

Damn, this does feel good.

It's his only thought as he stands on the podium, on top of the world, literally. Champagne flows over him. How long since the Australian anthem has been played ? How long ?

His name is announced after his title and he can't believe it, he can't believe it. The events, how hard it has been to get so far …

“Daniel Ricciardo, world champion !”

Australian world champion.

Fuck, that does sound good. How good it feels to hear that, to know that his choices weren't wrong, to know that he succeeded, finally. He already anticipates the smile on his parents' face. He wants to hug them, so hard. 

Michael offers him a towel with a wink. His silence almost surprises him.

“Aren't you going to talk to me ?”

“What are you expecting, idiot ? I wouldn't have followed you if I didn't believe in you a minimum.”

Daniel laughs at this and gives his friend a hug, who grins because he's so clingy. Yeah, the champagne. The feel of his shoe is anything but pleasant but he copes with it, euphoric.

And as he turns back to the crowd, still delirious, and sees these dozens of faces, these strangers, he feels strange, stunned like-

_ Two deep blue eyes, an ocean of mystery, a silent request. So sad, why are they so sad ?  _

He shakes his head to chase those thoughts away. He doesn’t know where they come from but lately they are more numerous. Fragments. Something else. Someone else.

Today is a day of celebration.

He does his interviews and changes and goes to his family. He bursts in tears with them, while he holds them a little tighter against him. His mother, his father, his sister.

They celebrate, they celebrate, they celebrate.

He thanks his team, he thanks Red Bull, he thanks the chance they gave him. His eyes close. A feeling of drunkenness in the pit of his stomach, the limits seem blurry to him. He feels ready to repeat the feat. He feels ready to win this title more than once. Now that he's been through it, he never wants to let go of those feelings.

Daniel returns to his hotel, almost staggering. He hasn't drunk that much, but he's overwhelmed by his own situation. It's so huge that his very senses are confused.

Outside his hotel room door, he freezes because-

Because there's someone standing by his door, curled up, just waiting. When the stranger sees him, he lets out a shaky breath.

“Daniel …!”

Before throwing himself on him to kiss him. 

His tangled and confused brain doesn’t immediately refuse the kiss. Because whoever he is, he kisses well. He contains a moan, not understanding why he's suddenly being so responsive.

There is just … this suffocating nostalgia that stays in his chest. A feeling of familiarity too keen. 

He ends up breaking contact and gauging the stranger with a glance. Younger, hair that looks brown in the dark but what strikes him most are- 

Those two blue eyes.

“Who are you ?” he murmurs, unable to hold back the question.

Hearing it, the stranger takes a step back, his face as colored with pain as if he had actually been hit, his large eyes immediately tinted with sadness …

“Dan … Daniel. Come on, how can you not remember it ? After all we've been through, I … you can’t have forgotten me ?”

Because his interlocutor in front of him seems on the verge of tears, he doesn’t dare to formulate a real answer. Maybe he should have. Silence stretches out in the hallway, heavy. The scene is strange, they face each other.

The stranger appears dejected for a moment, then he raises his head and something shines in his pupils, an intense fire. This sight takes his breath away.

“Baku.”

“W-What ?” he stammers, incomprehensible.

But the one in front of him just shakes his head once more and repeats :

“Baku.”

“I don't understand …”

Daniel doesn't know what he should associate with this place. Because, of course, he drove in Baku this year and that went quite well. It was even this circuit that marked a turning point in the championship, with him coming back in front and his main opponents relegated further.

“I don't know what you are doing here but you must be wrong.” He resumes, more sure of himself, he owes nothing to this person after all.

He simply finds himself destabilized. Because the stranger starts to cry. Tears roll down his cheeks and he makes no move to stop them. Rather, he lets them go silently.

“It hurts but I … I should have expected it. It takes more, right. I don't like to talk about it but I …”

Defeated. He doesn't know why but he doesn't like this vision. He doesn't want to see him like that, that's not the way he should be, because the Max he knew-

Max ?

“It was my damn fault, I moved under braking. I ruined the team's work that time and damn you were so mad at me. You had the right.”

Flashes before his eyes. More violent than before. Clearer too. Like a reminder, a violent reminder.

_ The steering wheel under his hands, the team instructions, the movement in front of him that he sees but that he can do nothing to avoid ... _

“I came to apologize but it didn't really work out and then … and then in the middle of the night … I knocked on your door. But you never answered. I think … I think it would have been better if I hadn't done it. But that wouldn't have changed anything for me, I …”

_ He hears his teammate's calls, sobs. But he refuses to go open. He turns a deaf ear and goes back to bed again, refusing to think about the degree of despair present in his voice, refusing to let it haunt him. _

_ The next day is less hard. He's still bitter but definitely not that angry anymore. Better. And while he's in the hall with his suitcases, he gasps in surprise at the sight that awaits him. _

_ Max tries to be as discreet as possible, cap pulled down lower on his head than usual, but that is not enough to hide the dark rings under his eyes and the purple color that his cheekbone has taken. It was … it was a cry for help …  _

_ He never felt so miserable. _

“Max …” he whispers softly.

The image refuses to leave his head. He has it in front of him, heady. It was his fault. He should have opened that fucking door, he knew something was wrong and yet he decided to ignore it. How could he …

“Daniel …?” hopeful questioning.

Daniel looks up to meet Max's azure gaze, whose tears are still flowing, and his breath is shaking. He walks up to the Dutchman to take his face in his hands.

“I don't understand, Max … what's going on ?”

“Fuck I knew … I hated that moment but of course you need this to remember. What a drama queen.”

He doesn't really know what is pushing him this way but suddenly he has a visceral need to feel him against him. He puts his lips on his and feels Max slipping against him with a pleasure he doesn’t hide. 

They end up out of breath, the Dutch stuck to the wall. Too close, too far. They missed each other too much. 

He feels like he hasn't seen him for so long. 

“I am sorry, my love. I should have let you in that night, I should have …”

“You still have some memories missing, right ?” The younger one gently teases him, with a small smile on his lips “It's okay, but we just have to get out of this.”

“This ? What is “this” ? Where are we ?”

“I … I don't really know. An illusory world I believe. I didn't think it was going to be so easy to find you. To come here.”

Daniel blinks for a moment.

“Were you a prisoner, too ?” then when Max nods “How did you get out of this ?”

The Dutchman looks down, his cheeks slightly red, before coughing, embarrassed, apparently.

“You weren't there so … it couldn't be real … so I jumped off a cliff.”

“What did you do ?!”

“Yes I know … not the best solution. And frankly painful, I don't recommend it but I … can I try something ?”

He bites his lip, swallowing his worry and anger. Because Max shouldn't put his life on the line so easily no matter if he's gone in the future, it's just not the right thing to do. He has reproaches in his mind but just agrees.

“Close your eyes ?” asks his lover, sweetly.

The darkness is almost pleasant, comfortable. He feels a touch, his boyfriend's forehead against his. Both hands on his cheeks, tracing the outline of his jaw.

“I exist and … and none of this is real.”

It was a beautiful dream. But that is not what his heart desires, he cannot be satisfied with this life.

“Yes. None of this is real.”

* * *

It's strange, waking up suddenly. Daniel is not comfortable in his own body. A feeling of itching. It just bothers him. How long has he been gone …?

“Dan ?”

He turns his head to find Max, seated at his side, and makes the gesture that seems most natural to him, he hugs him. They stay in that position for several moments, just enjoying that comfort, breathing each other in, a familiarity they so need.

Their senses are confused after such a trip.

When they get up, Max takes his hand in his.

They are not alone in the hall. 

“How did you know … how to come find me ?” he ends up asking.

“I don't know, it made sense. About who you are to me and who I am to you. I don't have such a strong bond with Lando and Alex, I don't know if it's possible.”

They exchange a look. Max details him more deeply what he's done with him - not much in itself. They try the same method for the two sleeping in front of them without being able to draw any results. 

“Dan, is-” the Dutchman cuts off when he tries to open the door and it doesn't budge. “What ?”

Everything is deserted, there are only them and the sleeping pilots. They haven't visited the other floors yet but …

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Daniel whispers, trying to force the opening which still doesn't move.

They try in pairs, they try the back doors but no exit seems available. They meet again in the hall, face to face, and the situation seems funny to him, it's true. He sighs, perhaps a little annoyed.

“Locked up till we solve the mystery, really ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, part of Dan's settled.   
> I dared using Baku once again I know ksksksksksk  
> I really felt like it could have been the beginning of something and my mind was just very pushy, as I don't think I ever made it the main thing in any of my fics.
> 
> Daniel ... Australian World Champion ... that sounded too good in my head, I needed to get this written.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter !


	3. Charles

Exploring the hotel is hardly that laborious. They use the leads they have. Daniel, taken by a sudden flash of genius, asks to find the position of a particular driver, with overwhelming certainty.

“Are you sure ?” Max asks, not quite convinced.

“Yes of course and it must be … that door there.”

They enter a room which is not locked. Large room, similar to the ones they themselves had. Charles is lying on the bed, but he isn’t alone in the room. Carlos is slumped against a wall, in a sitting position. 

“Are you sure of yourself, Dan ?” Max whispers and his eyes reflect such fear, he almost blames himself.

“I know what's going on, I'm sure. We're going to need him.”

“But I don't like the idea of you going alone …”

Daniel kisses his boyfriend even more deeply before pulling back and running a hand over his cheek gently.

“Explore the hotel, try to find who else is here for me, okay ?”

The Dutchman simply nods, without resolving to form real words.

Daniel takes Charles' hand, a little too cold, and tries to focus on that feeling- the feeling that he felt. When  _ they  _ left them. Because he knows they share a similar pain …

The last thing he sees before passing out is Max's worried blue gaze on him.

* * *

“Congratulations, Charles, I'm proud of you.”

Jules pulls him close to him in a tight embrace and the smile on his face has never been bigger. Charles is so happy, he just signed a contract with Ferrari after all. He will drive alongside his godfather … 

“We made it, I can't believe it.”

Against his neck, the Frenchman smiles before coming to kiss the top of his head, with infinite tenderness.

“Yes, Charlie, yes.”

The nickname almost makes him frown, to which it suddenly lights up in him but he tries to shake his head to dismiss the bad impression. He worked hard to get there, anyone can recognize that. He deserves this place and he is happy to get it.

That's not … that's the problem.

He doesn't want to think about it. Jules puts his arm around his waist, looking terribly proud, and as soon as they leave the room, they find themselves accosted.

“So how did it go ?” Anthoine has bright eyes asking them this, the black and yellow t-shirt he wears making him look a little conspicuous near such a red structure ensemble.

“I got it …”

“Oh my god !” 

The other Frenchman rushes towards him to take him in his arms, pushing Jules aside slightly. Charles laughs softly, it's a day full of emotions apparently.

“You are finally going to be able to fight properly against me, haha.”

Jules raises an eyebrow and nudges his compatriot.

“Don't be arrogant.”

“Ouch ! Solidarity between French people … don’t you know that ?”

His laughter gets a little loud but he can't believe it. He feels so happy, so carefree, like a weight has come off his chest. It's incredible. He takes a deeper breath. No reason to be worried, the future opens its arms to him.

“What are you waiting for to go tell your parents ?” continues Anthoine, with a gentle smile.

“I …” a hesitation runs through him, he doesn't know why “Yes you're right, I'll be back !”

“Take your time.” Jules simply answers, nodding his head.

By a kind of mimicry, he also nods before heading to another area of the paddock. His heart is so light. He feels like he could fly. He runs so much his joy is strong.

“Charles.”

This call freezes him.

There is a man standing, leaning against a wall, with brown curls and sun-tanned skin. Tattoos. Piercing eyes. 

“You have to end it. You know it yourself. Your rational mind is shouting it to you.They shouldn't be able to be there.”

He can't even understand what this stranger is talking about. He just knows that it could weaken his happiness and this is not the day for. He brushes these words aside, not paying enough attention to them.

“I don't know what you are talking about, I think you are wrong.”

Then he resumes his walk ever faster. His parents are sitting at a table, almost nervous, their faces light up when they see him and when he hugs them and starts talking to them in a voice that is a little too loud, they have their answer.

What a strange feeling. He is both on the verge of tears and at the same time he has never been happier in his life. He cannot choose an emotion, they all mix and merge. A fresco.

They don't have much to say. It's just a dream come true. The sacrifices were not in vain, yes. He hopes to make his father proud. There are so many expectations that he doesn't even bother to meet. Nothing matters more than the fact that he is now a Scuderia Ferrari driver.

He wants to celebrate with Anthoine and Jules by his side. Some other friends. He is very confident. His smile never leaves his lips.

He doesn’t cross paths with the stranger from earlier.

* * *

Charles is happy to be back in Monaco. He missed his apartment, it's true. He adjusts his backpack and unlocks his front door. He barely had time to open his door when he found himself inside, violently pushed against a wall.

He recognizes the man from the other time but … his eyes are cold, his features are drawn, and he looks furious. So furious. He scares him right now. One hand against his shoulder and the other around his throat.

“You'll listen to me, Charles, I'm starting to lose my patience.”

The grip isn't necessarily tight or insistent, but he thinks he's never seen him in such a state. Never ? He is frozen with terror and perhaps fascination.

“I don't plan on getting stuck in your fantasy forever. There is nothing for me here, and I made a promise. I made a promise, I have to go back, to return to him …”

The other man bangs hard against the wall, his face cracked in an expression of anguish, almost desperation.

“I … I don't understand.”

A cynical laugh escapes Daniel ? Was it Daniel ? who steps back, moving around the room.

“Damn it. I knew what to expect from coming here, but you live in denial, Charles. Denial. You take what they have to offer you, what this world has to offer you, but what about the living ? What do they have to say about it ?”

“The living ?”

“You know it. Jules, Anthoine, your father … they are no longer there. They are dead.”

A strangled cry escapes him. He puts his hands over his ears. It’s not possible, it’s necessarily lies. That sort of thing couldn't have happened. He doesn't want to believe it, can't believe it.

“Stop !” he cries out weakly.

“It was tough, I know that. To see them leave. But it's already happened, don't waste all your efforts by denying the inevitable, Charles, please.”

“No …”

Images pass before his eyes which fill with tears. He would like to block them, he doesn’t want to see them again. He wants that recklessness and innocence he found in coming here. He would have wanted so much ...

He slid against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest. He feels like a child. His heart in his throat.

“Can't I stay a little longer …? Is it wrong to want to see them again, I don't want … I don't want to lose them again.”

Daniel kneels before him, gently wipes one of his tears with the tip of his thumb.

“It's normal that you miss them, it's normal that you find it unfair, but there is nothing we can do about it. This world is not real. You can't stay here, others need you. Pierre needs you.”

This name triggers something in him. Something he had lost, which he couldn't remember clearly. A hole.

“Pierre ?”

“You want to see him again, don't you ? In the name of everything you've been through together ?”

He nods briskly. Suddenly it's clear. He needs to see him. He can't bear to be away from him for so long.

“So we have to get out of there.”

“How ?”

“You must admit that this world is false, that it doesn’t exist.”

Daniel grabs his hand and looks at him hopefully.

Charles takes a deep breath as his memories, the real ones this time, pass before his eyes. This place gave him everything he ever dreamed of, maybe that was why it was so easy to slip in.

Maybe deep down he was never quite ready to say goodbye to them, he feels like they were ripped from him so soon … He wanted to say so much more to them. There was so much more to do and say and experience. It will probably never be enough.

He keeps them in a corner of his chest, never really forgotten. Even his place is among the living, although there is still a long way to go …

“It’s … an illusion. I have to go back to reality.”

* * *

“Charles ? Charles, you're back …”

Max is leaning over him, his blue eyes reflecting his concern.

“Y-Yes.”

His voice trembles, he feels the tears rolling down his cheeks. It's awful, it's terrible. His heart hurts so much in his chest but he's alive. He’s alive.

“And I am not entitled to a correct reception ?” growls a voice beside them.

Max, seeing Daniel, sniffs contemptuously before grabbing him by the collar to kiss him passionately. The two come out breathless.

“Dan, you are a real idiot. How did you manage to enter his world ?”

Max doesn't even think about the sort of links that connect them. He believes enough in his boyfriend to know that’s not the reason.

“I think … I suspected what was going to happen. Who was alive. And that was enough to get there, apparently.” begins the Australian then, worried, he adds “How long have I left you ?”

“Hard to know. No more than an hour I would say ? There is nothing to indicate the time here.”

Charles observes around him. Are they in a hotel ? Carlos lies against the wall and he worries for a moment to see his teammate in such a state. While trying to get up, he feels a little dizzy.

“It lasted over a week there ! I even had to steal a car and hey … to be in total illegality.” and Daniel chuckles.

“As if you didn't like it.” Max mutters, pulling away from his boyfriend's embrace.

Charles takes a few steps around the room, he cannot tell the difference between this world and the one he has just left. Sometimes his surroundings, the faces seemed more blurry, but other than that …

He turns around, it jumps out at him.

“Where is Pierre ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit ... this chapter wasn't easy to write. For all it's about. Was wondering how to communicate perfectly the dynamics between the characters, how the illusion was for Charles ... and the come back to reality.
> 
> thanks for reading this chapter, let's head towards the next one!


	4. Pierre

“Are you sure ?” and although Max was the one who led him to the hallway where Pierre's body lay, he seems hesitant, worried.

Charles just nods. He approaches and it's strange to see his friend in such a state, sagging, eyes closed, as if in a deep sleep. This is the case, almost, of what he experienced and what his two comrades told him.

But still. 

The basics have been explained to him and he doesn't understand why they brought him back first, he doesn't even know if he'll be able to get something, to bring him back. What if it just doesn't work ?

“Are you sure this will work ?” he murmurs, seized with doubt.

Max seems baffled by this question, really baffled.

“I mean, you … he … argh.” the Dutchman rubs his face nervously “It's going to work, you don't have to worry about it.”

He would have liked to have had that same confidence. He's a long way from it right now, still wondering if it's a good idea. He is not in the best position to do it … Esteban would surely be a better solution …

He takes his hand between his and moves forward slightly, just to lay his forehead against his shoulder, in a gesture he doesn’t understand himself, just feeling the need of doing it. Then he closes his eyes, a thought crossing his mind ; the fact that he would like to see Pierre again.

And all seems to disappear around him.

* * *

It's like waking up from a long fall. 

Charles wears the same clothes as in the real world and his head is spinning a little. However as in front of him a single-seater passes very close, so close that he has to take a step back despite the fence, the wind sweeping his hair, making him almost tremble, he feels ill.

He is quite disoriented. The crowd around him makes him feel hot. There is too much noise, too much screaming, too much light. He almost feels suffocating. A sensation slowly swelling along his chest, which is too much. He puts a hand against the wall, clings to it. Breathe. It's too much for him. 

He has to concentrate.

His surroundings become clearer and he recognizes Monaco. Good. Monaco is his city, he will have no trouble finding his way around. It's simple and he at least has home advantage. He is in known land and that should reassure him but it doesn’t do it at all, even if he doesn’t understand why.

Why Monaco ? Pierre doesn't have an apartment in Monaco … he blinks his eyes before remembering what he is watching. A race, yes. Formula One. Pierre could very well have dreamed of winning world championships. It would be reasonable, it would be accessible, possible.

Then he remembers that his dream had caused dead people to reappear, to smile, to live by his side and he wonders what is currently not possible.

“Pierre Gasly crosses the finish line, he comes home with the first place !”

Charles tries to get past the crowd to observe what is really going on. The giant screen to his right gives him an answer. He feels his mouth open wide in surprise. Because the car from which Pierre gets out is a blazing red. 

What ?

It hasn’t even crossed his mind but soon he sees him take off his helmet, his hair still dyed blond, which he slightly and quickly fixes, because of the sweating, fully dressed in scarlet, celebrating his victory. 

Pierre is driving for Ferrari here.

His mouth dries up. He can't quite believe it and yet it shouldn't surprise him. They dreamed of many things, when they were only children … their pockets were full of dreams just waiting to be realized.

There is something that makes him frown, that bothers him as he watches Pierre celebrate with his mechanics, his team, he can't quite figure out what. A feeling, a certainty, something that is missing.

It’s only when his friend takes the mic that is handed to him that he understands what is wrong. Because this smile, this way of acting, these gestures, this wink he gives to the camera … it's too much. Everything is too much.

He would almost qualify it as superficial but that's not even the right term. The whole personality of the Frenchman seems different. He seems to have grown in confidence and arrogance, it wouldn't be a bad thing if he didn't look so … different. Charles doesn't like it, it's not Pierre, it doesn't look like him, it can't be him.

He remembers the gentle determination, the flame that shone in his eyes, his composure, his awkwardness, his tendency to keep his cool and, of course, smile, jump of joy when it was his time to celebrate but never …

Never while being cruel. Cold. Impersonal.

This person he sees in front of him, on giant screens, in front of the cameras, makes him frankly uncomfortable.

“My god … he's so sexy !” a groupie shouts next to him.

“Time to go for it, he's single, right ?” her friend answers.

“He has been seen with a lot of girls lately … what can I say, he's a true womanizer.”

“He might not have found the right one yet …”

This conversation almost makes him want to throw up. Even if he would like to reassure himself, he knows who they are talking about. And to be honest, he still doesn't know how he's going to approach his friend.

He saw it at work and was also informed of it. To be immersed in his illusory world was to forget all those who were not in it … the dream becomes their reality. Pierre doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t remember all those years spent together, side by side. He has a small heartache at the idea. No. In this world he doesn’t even exist.

He almost feels offended. How can you write a good story where he's not in it ? That’s not possible. Or anyways that’s not possible when your name is Pierre Gasly. 

He places a friendly smile on his face and approaches the young ladies he saw discussing. It’s not a problem for him to be courteous, especially since he has decided to become someone with a public image, he’s just used to it.

“Excuse me, can I borrow one of your phones ? Mine has no more battery and I have an important message to send …” he embellishes everything with an embarrassed air and it doesn’t take more to obtain the desired object.

Truth is he doesn’t need to send a message and doesn’t send one. To who ? He does a quick Google search to see what he'll have to face. He needs to know how much things have changed and all he has to do is type a vague _ Pierre Gasly girlfriend  _ to come across a slew of scandalous magazine articles where Pierre appears in outfits … which let's be clear, puts himself forward with several different girls. He counts a dozen before closing the page and returning the phone to its owner.

He only retained the essential. What he needed. A title :  _ Pierre Gasly, the decadence of a F1 driver ? On his private yacht, the latter seems to host outrageous parties where-  _ that's about where he stopped.

“Thank you very much, you saved my life.”

“You're welcome. My name is Jade and you are …?”

“Charles.” he hesitates a moment before remembering that his name means nothing here “Leclerc. Charles Leclerc. I'm sorry to be indiscreet but I heard you talk about the driver Pierre Gasly …”

“Oh.” the girl's cheeks flushes slightly “Yes, I … I like him a lot. I know he can have a bad reputation, but I … anyway I'll see that tonight. A party is held at the port, on a yacht.”

His luck. Charles knows he mustn't let her slip away, that it's the finish line he has in front of him. He nods in understanding. He can't laugh at her ambitions, her dreams, to tell the truth he knows that Pierre would have been delighted to meet devoted fans … in the real world. Here, other than to have her in his bed, he's not sure.

The thought makes him sweat again. He doesn't like what he thinks, he doesn't like anything in this world. Even if the idea of having his friend at Ferrari … is enticing, he must admit, he doesn’t want anything to do with this new personality. He misses his Pierre and is ready to do anything to get him back.

“Oh shit …” he blurts out, like it’s natural “It's probably that party my friends wanted me to come to. What an idiot I am.”

“Can't you just go find them just to get in ?”

He shakes his head from side to side, an annoyed look on his features.

“I know then !” Jade seems delighted to have found a solution “You just have to come with me ? It should be enough to get you through.”

“I don't even know how to thank you.”

The idea that she is just an illusion almost saddens him. There is so much humanity in all these people around them, so much. But nothing is real. That's why it seems so true, making them want to stay always longer, without doubts. Because it tastes of truth, while remaining just a smoke, nothing but lies.

* * *

Charles follows the young lady. It's pretty straightforward, pretty simple. He may be successful faster than he thought. Even though he has no idea how to get Pierre back. It's a mystery. And if he has this different personality, everything seems to get more complicated. A real puzzle.

No one questions his outfit, he thanks the good god for being in simple blue jeans with a black polo shirt, certainly labeled with the Ferrari logo, but no one has so far given him any thought about it. The time on his watch flies in a strange way, he is the only one to be disturbed by it. Again, he might have a quirky outlook, since he's not from this world and has nothing to do with it.

Another heartache as his gaze lands on the leather strap on his right wrist. A birthday present he never could leave. Pierre had simply told him that he had made him think of him when he saw it. 

But it was a little earlier, almost another time, he just hadn't taken it off. Remembering it triggers an avalanche of unpleasant memories. He didn’t reflect yet on what was in his own world, who was in his own world. He thinks it would be better to forget. Move forward without looking back. Too painful.

There are a lot of people on this yacht. This is his first finding and despite the fact that he has always been to places like this, that he’s familiar with it, ambiance and people, he feels uncomfortable once again. Worried, restless.

Jade introduces him to several people whom he greets with a friendly air, then he is left alone to go find his friends. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He must find the womanizer. Not complicated in itself the boat is big but not that big.

Despair comes to him after ten minutes when he has skimmed the ship up and down and not having seen a lock of hair of the other pilot's. Nothing. He feels crazy. He even resolved to ask people, sometimes way too drunk for a 7pm, who often responded with a shrug or a sorry smile. He tries to think about a place he would have missed. Pierre wouldn't have chosen someone to sleep with already, right ?

He wraps his face in his hands, embarrassed by his own thoughts. Who are credible. A bit too credible in fact. He leans on the railing, just stares at the ocean to try to calm himself down. The smell of salt climbing to his nose. He feels like he hasn’t stopped since he arrived here and feels tired. As if it's been days. 

He can't stop until he finds his friend, that's for sure. He runs a hand through his hair, wishing he had a bandana to hold it back. 

“I was told you were looking for me ?”

This sentence makes him freeze. He blinks and turns around almost automatically to find Pierre in a rather tight black top with laces closing the collar. Is that … oh … is that an eyeliner line ? His necklace with a cross rests on his sternum and a lot of different emotions run through him at the same time.

“Interesting choice of polo shirt, although … although not everyone can wear this kind of clothing.”

Charles swallows because, yes, it was Ferrari who provided him but he doesn't exist in this world. How then to make him realize that all this is only illusory and false ... nobody would believe it at first glance.

“A gift from a friend.”

“Really ?”

He hadn't noticed that Pierre had come so close to him, a smirk on his lips, interested, looking him up and down. He doesn't need much to know he's being mentally undressed and he's soon cornered against the edge. He was already way too close, that wasn’t a good idea at all. 

He doesn't really understand. It’s not possible, for him, at least. His friend never showed interest in him and he was pretty sure he was straight. He swallows, Pierre's grip closes on his wrist where his bracelet is and for a moment he hopes that seeing it might revive his memories but then the Frenchman's mouth lands on his, bossy and dominant, and he moans in surprise.

He is pressed a little more against the wall, his back almost in the open and he has to hold on to something. His blood rushing to his cheeks, he feels the adrenaline going through him when he realizes he might have chosen the wrong path. Heart pounding at his temples, but not for the right reasons.

He tries to resist but his legs almost give way under him as Pierre pulls him towards what appears to be the cabin. Great. He doesn't know how to stop this, he can't bring himself to hit him anyway ? He could never dare to do so. His thoughts trail is interrupted when his back meets a mattress. He gasps for a moment as he watches the older man get rid of his clothes. 

He then moves backward, frightened. There are no other terms. What can happen to him, what will happen. Pierre is not the same and what a mistake to think that he could reason with him, he is merciless.

“Pierre … please … you are not yourself.”

It only seems to make the Frenchman smile more and Charles suppresses a cry when he is bitten frankly at the base of the neck. Chills in his spine. His shirt lifted and the thought that suddenly crosses his mind is that he wishes it had happened differently. This freezes him for a moment, during which his friend takes the opportunity to remove his pants.

What ?

No matter how much he retraces his own thoughts, he doesn't know why it came to him or where it came from. And yet, thinking about it just a little more, he feels like it’s always been there, inside him. Hidden under a layer of inhibitions and rules and how to have the best image possible. Locked up. 

He shouldn’t be ashamed, he shouldn’t be afraid of his desires. They’re all his own after all. Finding Pierre's azure gaze, naked above him, he realizes that it doesn't bother him so much. But he doesn't know- he still doesn't know how to get him back … and it's his first time with a man.

He lets out a gasp at the intrusion. Lubricant but no preparation and this abruptness will leave purple marks on his hips. And dozens of hickeys and bites along his neck and abdomen. His hands behind Pierre's back, he knows he is scratching the skin with his nails. He lacks air.

“Please, Pierre … slower, I …”

The pain remains burning but, against all odds, his friend (lover?) stops. He's panting, he feels too exposed that way. Almost humiliated and he is sorry that everything is happening like that, really. He misses Pierre terribly and it's him but it's not him, it doesn't look like him, those touches, that look … it would almost haunt him.

His cheeks are lukewarm and it takes a moment through his blurred vision to realize that he is crying. A soft sob that escapes him. He feels tired and he feels used. He has just realized that he has feelings for his longtime friend since he can't seem to know when, maybe always, but he also may have lost this very same dear friend … 

Pierre's hand slips on his cheek gently, to catch his tears with the tip of his thumb, with a tenderness that has been sorely lacking since the beginning of their throes of passion. He almost trembles.

“Pierre ?” he whispers, hopefully.

The Frenchman doesn’t answer but simply returns to kiss him, and he moans in the embrace, letting himself go. Something is different, his hope grows as they continue. As the thrusts begin and it's shocking, he's never done that, his body seems almost foreign to him, too sensitive.

Several noises escape from his mouth without his being able to stop them. The vision above him is magnificent. The sweaty forehead, the flushed cheeks, the slightly swollen mouth … Pierre is the embodiment of perfection. With each movement, the necklace that hangs around his neck wobbles between them and the sight becomes almost hypnotic. 

Strangely satisfied, the oldest barely touches him that he comes between them. It doesn't take much more for his companion to climax into him before dropping by his side, out of breath.

“Pierre ?” he calls him again, brushing his cheek with the tips of his fingers.

The blue pupils facing him shine with a sparkle, with a glow, which warms him from within. Because that's it, it's him. He’s back. He almost feels the tears coming to his eyes again, too emotional.

“I'm sorry, Charles, I …” Pierre's voice is rocky, devoid of any venom, and he lets out an almost painful sigh of relief.

“You came back … you came back to me !”

“And I hurt you.” and the older one draws several marks along his neck and shoulders.

Charles shakes his head and with a supple gesture brings his friend back into his arms. He desperately needs this contact and it could be awkward, they are both naked, but the intimacy that comes with it doesn't bother him. It's strangely soothing.

“I love you Pierre. I think I've always loved you, I … it's silly that I needed that to realize that.”

“Me too, Charles. This is why I'm sorry. It was your first time right ? I acted … I mean, the way I acted …”

“I don't care. Okay ? I'm happy to have you in my arms again, that it's you, really you, and that's all that matters.”

Pierre leaves a trail of kisses where he left his marks earlier and he almost shivers at the softness of the gesture.

“Oh and we're in an illusory world. Your dream I guess. Max and Daniel are waiting for us, when we’ll wake up.”

“I suspected it. I don't know how it affected me so much but I was no longer me and it felt almost normal. It was who I was, who I had become. A nightmare.”

“Not everything is to be thrown away.” he objects, with a small smile.

“Really ?”

“Mmh, really. After all … the color red looked really, really good on you.”

He hears his partner laugh against his neck and this sound warms him from the inside. He feels light. A little too happy. As if his heart could explode at any moment, as if he could die right there, right now, without having any regrets.

“Should we go home ?”

The proposition is tempting.

But then there are those two arms wrapped around him, that welcome warmth. He comes a little closer, snuggling himself up more against the body of the one he loves. A bubble, a little paradise.

He already knows what their return is going to be. With other people to save, he doesn't know who is in the hotel, but their comrades surely have ideas, and continue like this until they find a way to escape. Very little for him.

They might well have a moment of their own, before all that, they are in no rush after all, from what he knows, what has been said to him and what he has seen.

He rearranges their position carefully, coming to kiss Pierre's lips once again, reveling in this contact, before answering :

“Let's stay a little longer …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a very different experiment ! But pretty nice. Keeping the pov of Charles during the part brought a whole new dynamic and way of writing the things. I had to think about the savior and not the one that had to be saved ... I hope you liked this new chapter !


	5. Esteban

It was ridiculous, really. Esteban didn't know where he was or what he was doing there but he had a certainty in his mind. It had entertained him anyway, this world revolved around him, literally, and was ready to offer him whatever he wanted to make up for the lack, to make him stay a little longer.

He had found himself behind the wheel of a Mercedes, wearing clothes labeled Mercedes, having debrief with Toto Wolff, and he had observed everything with a certain detachment yet yes, yes it’s on the list of things that he would have liked, would like to do, to become. 

He wins races and drinks champagne and remains in awe of how real this place seems. 

Then, the limits.

He never really got the answers to his questions. He can have anything he wants except words. Things that seem too strange and improbable to him. Mistakes perhaps, or inability ?

He is in possession of all his memories, or at least doesn’t believe he is lacking. Or he didn’t lose too much anyway. He has no idea how he ended up here, but he has kept in mind all the details, all the things, his journey.

How he got in Formula One, the year out of it, the comeback, the Renault wheel and not another. But above all, and probably what is lacking the most in the world, is the presence of real F1 drivers. His adversaries, his rivals, his comrades. For some reason he didn't really see any.

His ambitions ruined. He thought … he thought of all these people and even Anthoine reappeared before his eyes. All smiles, alive, and he knew him maybe a little less than Pierre but the vision made him sick. Impossible to face him, palms sweaty, heavy feeling in his stomach, his reason which revolted, which denied, which rejected it all.

The world had become blurry, blurred, as he tried to breathe properly - he was even having trouble remembering how to do so at this point. He had felt a struggle, somewhere, a breaking.

He is dead, he is dead, he should be dead, he cannot be there, it isn’t possible, that-

Litany of words that had struggled to stop, that had taken every effort to stop. And when his eyes reopened, Anthoine was no longer in front of him, he had indeed disappeared.

And he never came back.

If Esteban was surely too aware of the limits of this place, this place was too aware of his. A certain balance. One ambition; that of making him stay and at any cost. If it had to erase, if it had to start over, rewrite a story that was wrong somewhere-

He could ask and it would just happen.

He was master of this world. Totally. As long as he agreed to be held hostage, he would still be able to do and to decide to do what he wanted, everything he wanted.

It was funny, up to a point. He could have the girls … whoever he wanted and see it, this relationship, being romanticized in the most romantic way or the most banal possible. He could cause scandals in the press without drawing any real consequences and have the most offbeat possible behavior that nothing serious would happen to him.

(A striptease he tried his hand at in a club, surrounded by lots of people - his second, by the way - after having tempted several men quite flirtatiously only appeared one day in the press. What a pity.)

And then he wondered how far he could screw up, he wondered what would be granted. Not necessarily out of boredom but out of a curious need to know, to know more and more. This place made him want to try more and more of what couldn’t be done.

Commit murder ?

He stuck a knife in someone's flesh and watched them bleed out, curled up in a chair next to them, drinking a glass of champagne. The next day the body was gone. Almost annoying, he doesn't know if he should feel any relief. He knows he's killing emptiness, void, nothing. He knows there is only him real here.

To be able to do what he wants, to be who he wants ...

It sounds as much like a dream as it sounds like a nightmare. The door to all excesses, to all thoughts, to every desire. Win as many worthless world championships as he wants, build himself a harem of people who don't exist, do what he wants without being afraid of being judged by an illusory world.

Esteban stays here however. 

He is happy in a way and although he knows it is all wrong, it is still hard to see it with the naked eye. If he relaxes his senses enough and lets himself go to this haven of paradise ... he could start to think that it’s true and that it’s his memories of before which have been distorted, which are only escapades and masquerades and nothing. 

Although it’s not possible, he knows it.

The sensations are almost the same. Touch, smell, taste. He knows it from having tested it in the most normal to the most intimate way. Similar, very similar. Too similar ? He still can't figure out what made him sink here, what made him bring here, out of his own reality.

But the pain is not quite the same. His assumptions are that this place doesn't think it can generate a situation that would make anyone want to endure suffering and so it made it optional, slightly shifted, but he knows it. He feels it.

It's hard to notice that on little wounds. A bruise, a vague scratch is not enough to show real data on this subject.

He put a knife over his arm and waited for the explosion of pain, the feeling of his skin tearing. It was then that he realized that it was not going to happen, it was not real. He had proven himself right once more and when he woke up the wounds were no longer there. Again and again and again.

He almost would have been frustrated.

It's not that he doesn't appreciate where he is, but in reality he doesn't like the sudden power he has in his hands as much as he should. He should feel proud, fulfilled, like a god, not to fear any sanction, direct consequence. He is out of the law. But it's not as rewarding, almost a little disappointing from that point of view.

Sometimes he misses the people of the real world. It's hard to say, hard to get it, the more time passes and the more the memory seems to fray and he clings to it with all his might to prevent it from being erased. These are parts of him that he cannot afford to lose, to let go. Or he may lose himself.

He doesn't know how to get out of here, even if he wanted to. What would be the right trick to adopt ? He really doesn't see. He doesn’t get the point. He is already dubious, in himself, eternally unconvinced about certain aspects and he has already tried to exceed many limits. He is running out of thoughts and time for.

His world is shaken up for the first time.

This results in the appearance of first Max and then Daniel. Wrong, of course. But they couldn't appear before now and it seems weird to him. Why ? What are the reasons ? And when he spends time with them, they seem so similar to his memories, dancing around, exchanging unsubtle glances, when they think no one is watching …

Seriously ? Even in his own space, these two managed to be two fools in love.

But perhaps they are molded from his memories. Esteban finds it hard to imagine another creative base. Most of the people around him have similar characters to what he thought, probably from his point of view. Everything is a reflection of his thoughts, of his memory. A reflection of his. Amazed and terrified.

But then all these strangers ... invented ? 

No. It can't be that. Some seemed familiar to him but nothing more nothing less. As already crossed but never approached. Like passers-by, silhouettes, people. Like a dream. Yes that's it, a dream. His mind follows its trail.

He remembers it suddenly, without knowing why. These faces told him something because he memorized them subconsciously. The brain is unable to invent faces, those seen in dreams have necessarily been crossed at one time or another so-

So it's more of a kind of dream.

A dream that someone or something is controlling. This is another of his certainties. It’s his dream, his memories, but not his control. All the reactions he managed to get … why keep him here ? What happens to the world if he ever leaves it ?

He still will not have the questions for these answers. He got used to the idea that he has to find it on his own. Let the boundaries become a little more blurry, a little less marked, to blend more into the background. To understand. To change his perspective. 

This time, it's Charles who joins them, joins him. Esteban likes to feel less alone by including the specters of reality, but still they aren't real people. They talk and act and smile like them. It's crazy. Would almost feel warmed by such a contact, or does seeing more familiar faces after time so alone give him a bad sense of security ? Of reality ?

Charles and Max still love each other so little. His mind thinks for him and his subconscious desires come out, he knows he won't have anyone to judge his actions anyway. His world, his dream, right ? An uncomfortable feeling crept up his throat. Anything beyond his control, yes. He can’t keep anything to himself, it just comes out spontaneously.

He wakes up with the feeling of having lived a special night. That will never happen again. That his wildest fantasies have come true. Of which he would almost be a little ashamed. He observes the figures in his bed and thanks the fact that no one will know what he just did, did. It doesn't matter. He buries his face in his hand with the feeling that he passed a limit of his own.

How can everything change so quickly ? He then runs a hand through his hair, knowing full well it's a sign he's starting to surrender too much to this reality. No, to this dream. This is not true. That can’t be true. 

“Fuck, Esteban ?!”

At the sudden call, Esteban looks up to find Pierre in the doorway. Pierre, only him was missing, he supposes. He might have been able to do without him, to live without having him, his heart is exhausted from all their struggles. He doesn't want any more. He will never admit how much he misses the other Frenchman …

It's … but it's his world. It’s his world indeed ? He can do whatever he wants, whatever he feels like. He closes his eyes for a moment, concentrating on what he wants. Really. Find the friend he once lost. 

“I can't believe that … you put them in your bed. Max and Daniel are a couple and Charles … Charles is mine.”

His eyes widen when he realizes it's not working. That nothing has an effect on Pierre, almost as if … as if he’s real too. What the heck. And not a simple illusion brought here by he doesn’t know which trick.

“What ? Last I heard you weren't together.”

“Last time I heard, we were in the real world and not in a dream.”

He gets up, thanks for the fact that he's wearing his underwear, so as not to make the situation more embarrassing than it already is. Because honestly he’s mortified inside. In bed, Max, Daniel and Charles don’t move an inch.

“You … are you real ?” he asks, still struggling to believe it.

“If I am real ? Damn, I still can't believe you fucked them, or that they fucked you, whatever. They're our friends, they're …”

“You can’t lecture me at all, you don’t have any right to do so !”

Esteban is already on the defensive, Pierre has this gift of angering him more than necessary, always knowing where to aim. The default of knowing each other for too long. The fact that an unconscious desire of his just realized behind him doesn’t help his case but the other driver should know better than that, it’s the fault of this world it-

This world he created.

His thoughts become muddled and he feels a headache coming. Disoriented.

“We have no time to waste.” the older man finally mumbles, grabbing his arm, “We have to get out of this. You're not the only one being trapped and we don't know what to do about it …”

Not the only one ? He can’t help but do the connections. Maybe … maybe the reason the pilots were absent is that they are also prisoners ? Credible hypothesis, his mind continues to go on its own. A question.

“How do we get out of here then ?”

“You have to admit that this world is a fake and that should send us back to reality.”

He nods. None of them speak of the fact that it was Pierre who entered his world and came to seek him, or why. The reasons, once again. The hand of the other Frenchman slides on his wrist to come and grab his forearm and some memories pass before his eyes. Notably the fact that they used to hold each other not by the hand but by the forearm, younger, without knowing why. It was their thing.

Stifling nostalgia. He doesn’t want to be closer to Pierre than necessary. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“This world … is not real. It's only a dream.”

Black and darkness around him.

But when his eyes open again, nothing has changed. Everything is the same. They are still in the same apartment, in the same room, standing opposite each other. They haven't moved at all. Why ?

“What ?” Pierre lets out and it's almost hysterical.

He can't figure it out either. He doesn’t know a thing about it.

“Why did it not work ?” he whispers.

The older man gives him a thoughtful look, a spark of something shining in the background of his irises. He can't decipher it.

“You may not believe it enough.” it's dry, brittle.

“What? Not possible. I know this world is an illusion, I've always known it. I remembered you, those who weren't there, I remembered you… ”

“It's one thing to know it's an illusion but it's another to feel it as an illusion.”

The words leave him stunned. Pierre pulls back and drops onto the bed, his head in his arms, distraught. He feels sorry to see him like that but it is not possible. He knows that all this is not true, he knows it !

“Why did I agree to come ? I should have known it wouldn't work. Fuck. How naive I am.”

"But I know ! I know it's fake, I know it ! I …”

Had he ever wanted to really go back to real life ? Maybe if he hadn't found a solution it was because he hadn't tried enough, because he didn't want to, enough ? Doubts assail him and it’s terrible. A waterfall, a descent. Is Pierre going to get stuck too ? Really ? It’s all his fault.

“I'm sorry, Pierre, I will find a solution.” the excuse slips out of his lips a little too easily, it's strange, but seeing him in such a state makes him want to talk, to say anything, to reassure him, to help him.

“You …” but the other French doesn’t finish his sentence, shaking his head. “How can you not miss reality, Este ? These worlds can be good … but they lack everything, the people we love. If we don't come back to them, what kind of pain will they have to face with our loss ?”

And a certain guilt that crosses his mind. He never thought about it, it never occurred to him. He feels like he could stay here longer and that's a bad thing, probably. He can no longer reason correctly, but he is nevertheless the key to their way out. The one and only.

“Why are you here, Pierre ? Why did you come ?”

“As if I knew something about it ! I was just sure … I had this feeling that you would let me in and I wish I was wrong !”

The sentence hurts him. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying not to think about what he would like to have. He could almost imagine this other Pierre, with whom he would not have burnt the bridges, smiling at him and wanting to reassure him … and again to talk about everything and nothing, absurd conversations, without interest, the best … 

An audible creak. 

Esteban grimaces when he hears it. The lights are flickering and it never happened the whole time he was here. Almost scary. Something unusual. When they light up again, he gasps. Because another Pierre is standing there, almost identically.

“Pierre ?”

“Yes, Este. Above all, don't listen to him. Why would you wanna leave us, huh ? You are so much better with us, yes I know that. Here we will never hurt you, you can have whatever you want … please … I don't want us to fight, I just want you to stay ?”

His heart in his throat. He takes a hesitant step in the direction of the Pierre who has just appeared and the latter has a bright smile for him. Stomach in knots. How long has it been since he saw him smile like that ? To him ?

“Esteban, no ! You can't stay here forever … you have to face reality at one point or another. And it may not be beautiful, may not be what you want, but it will be up to you to act to make it change. Life is hard work, you know that better than anyone.”

The face of the fake(?) Pierre crumples and something happens that he doesn't quite understand. A gesture and Pierre falls to his knees, swallowing back a moan of pain, a shard of glass sunk into his arm.

“What …” he whispers, it seems unreal, incomprehensible to him.

“You don't need him anymore, Este.” continues the Pierre still standing, with a smile still as brilliant as ever. “No need for him anymore when you can have me, us. We are all yours, why seek happiness and suffering elsewhere ? Stay … we want you to stay …”

The consciousness of this world finally materialized in a form. A real form. More deadly than he had ever seen, approached. This is a direct answer to some of his questions.

“It's awful to suffer, it's understandable to want to forget, to … to … imagine a world where nothing can reach you. But this is not true. They need you, Esteban … the other pilots … Alex, Lance-” Pierre doesn't have time to finish his sentence when a second shard sinks into his abdomen.

He's losing so much blood. 

Almost unconsciously, Esteban takes a step towards that Pierre, the real one. He cannot bear to see him suffer without being able to help him. He can't stand this sight, he's got to do something, there's got to be something to do. His chest hurt only seeing him that way.

The words of the other Frenchman echo in his head. The two first names dropped. Lance is here ? How is it possible ? Is he okay ? Uneasiness in his chest and the more thoughts invade him, the closer he gets to the one who has been his friend.

“ **How dare you ?** ” a voice creaks behind him and he can't recognize it anymore, it sounds so distorted. “ **We did everything for you, we gave you the happiness you wanted, that you wanted, whatever you wanted, even without realizing it. Ungrateful … ungrateful … ungrateful.** ” 

The last word seems to reverberate around them, like an unpleasant echo. Dangerous.

He finally reaches Pierre and the cut seems deep, his facial features no longer hide his pain, as if he could no longer hold it back. He busies himself around the wound, not really knowing what to do. He can't remove the shards but then … how to help him?

“I'm sorry, Pierre, I'm sorry.” he whispers, defeated.

“ **Unforgivable … unforgivable … unforgivable.** ”

Pierre's grip on his arm is weak, his complexion is pale, sickly, and his breath is short, almost nonexistent. He is in so much pain. So, so much pain.

“I wish I was wrong … you know ? Because … because I wanted so badly that it was me … I wanted to help you so badly, I … I was afraid to fail and … a-and to leave you here … it's silly but I …”

The eyes of Pierre, his blue irises, reflecting his emotions so much that when things were wrong he could directly see the sadness in his eyes reflected there and, oh, on this day that they parted, he would have believed see a storm unfold there !, close suddenly.

He doesn't know where the shards hit him, but it could be fatal to him. It's probably fatal to him, killing him.

“Pierre ? Pierre, please ? Pierre …”

He no longer hears the noisy background, the danger that grows more and more on them, on him, in all this noise, he can’t concentrate on anything other than his friend, lying there, in bad shape.

His nose stings, his eyes are wet, his vision blurs. No. No, it can't be real, no. It can't be happening, he can't lose him. Not now, not when they have nothing settled yet.

His tears roll down the inert cheeks of the other pilot who doesn't react further and he closes his eyes, resting his forehead against his. A cry or a moan escapes him, he doesn’t know which of the two. His voice is broken, without even having used it.

“No no no. This world cannot be real. I refuse. I don’t want it ! I don't want it … please, Pierre … it can only be a bad dream …”

He can't breathe. The air is heavy. He can't open his eyes, he doesn't want to open them and see that same vision.

And suddenly, he is carried away, hit as by a great wave of darkness which seems to want to erase everything in its path, until leaving only a blank page. Emptiness, void, nothing. Until destroying all the lies that have been built here.

* * *

His eyes open and they are still full of tears. Esteban gets up, he is in a room, on a sofa. He has no idea where he is or what he's doing there. It looks like he's awake, well, maybe. He doesn’t believe in what he sees at first glance.

Charles, Max and Daniel have a confused look on their faces, but he couldn't care less.

He rushes over to Pierre immediately, his body seated, his back leaning against the bottom of the sofa he was lying on.

“Pierre ? Pierre can you hear me ?”

There is a moment of latency when he thinks that he has screwed everything up, that because of his doing, of his actions, of the world he agreed in building, he will never see these two blue pupils again ...

Then Pierre starts to cough with difficulty, waking up to his turn, and he doesn't miss how his face lights up slightly when he sees him. It's subtle, still shy between them. But this is progress, major progress …

“Este …?”

He nods. He doesn't dare to touch him more, he doesn't dare to hug him, unlike Charles who throws himself on the older of them two, kissing him, cherishing him, keeping him close to him, as if being apart had been the most painful thing ever.

He just doesn't take his eyes off him, keeping his gaze fixed on his. And when Pierre gives him a small smile, not much, next to nothing, but significant, Esteban smiles back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another kind of pov, starting right in the subject. I wanted someone conscious of their surrounding, but that wouldn't mean it would be easier for them to get out of it. Also, it seems like the worlds finally evolved, making other drivers appear in it ... may become harder and harder to get them out of it ...   
> Hope you liked that part !


	6. Lance

A persistent noise in his ears. A hum. He blinks several times. It takes a moment for his vision to stabilize. This is not the greatest wake he ever had. There is a girl next to him, he gently pulls her on the side so he can get up. In his simplest form, he walks up to the window of his bedroom.

The sun dazzles him almost. The weather is nice. From here he has a simple view of the swimming pool. A few people hang around, some already lounging on deckchairs and few in the water. He smiles watching the scene. Such a bunch of drunkards really.

He puts on some clothes, loose pants and a shirt that he doesn't close and walks upstairs. An outfit comfortable enough. He is greeted with exclamations and smiles. He's going to pour himself a glass of water instead of starting his day with vodka like some of his friends. Really.

“Lance !” several girls in bikinis squeal in the swimming pool “Are you joining us ?”

Lance shakes his head slowly, starting to drink. A weird sensation that overwhelms him and that he quickly drives away. Not the moment. His father agreed to give him the keys to this villa. He was able to invite whomever he wanted. Everyone responded to his invitation. He is happy …

He knows that this day will be the same as yesterday. A slow, mostly lazy awakening, and an oversized evening with anything but healthy food. Their days here are always like that.

His head is a bit heavy. He finds doliprane in one of the many drawers in the kitchen and sits down on a stool to eat a bowl of cereal. He feels like he's wandering around in life, but it's not that bad. He doesn't feel unhappy. He is even one of the most beloved personalities in the world for his charities and appearances with other stars. Internet, TV …

A dream life.

He doesn’t complain. But Why is he not satisfied basically ? It's strange. He has everything he wanted and he's not even alone. He is surrounded, loved, pampered. Of all. Everybody. Not a single person can resist him.

“Lance, are you coming with us to the airport ?” asks a brunette with a sparkling smile - Thomas maybe? - by taking one of the key cars in the entry.

“Yep, who do we have to get ?”

“Friends who join us, have you already forgotten ?”

“Ah okay, I'm coming.”

He buttons his shirt quickly, gets his keys. The journey is fast, or they don’t respect the speed limit. He doesn’t know which is the correct version. To be fair, he doesn’t care at all. His hands are shaking without his knowing why. 

There are five people. Aesthetics of idea, probably. He quickly looks at the people present. His gaze rests on the last one, a boy his age surely, tall and slender, athletic. A little out of frame. He wears sunglasses and a cap.

Their eyes meet or at least he thinks so and he can't help but look away immediately, like burnt.

It seems that this stranger keeps staring at him. Even in the car, every glance in the rearview mirror. He shivers. Deep down, it's the open door to something bigger. Who surpasses him. He doesn't really understand. He doesn’t really know why. 

The party doesn't take that long to restart. Everyone welcomes the newcomers and the calm vibe soon turns into something electric, full of energy. He would almost be tired staying there. But it’s like everyday. He forces a smile on his features.

He does his best to keep up with the rowdy people and the flowing alcohol. Really. He's doing his best. He has the impression of a gas floating all around them, which clouds his mind, whispering to him to let himself be left to the crowd, to this chaos which envelops him nicely, warmly. It seems almost comforting right now.

Lance has the impression of getting lost each time a little more in the ephemeral of this stay. He knows it's only a stay. People take advantage of his wealth and expose theirs and he is not alone, he is anything but alone. They are basically the same, him and the people here. To try to forget their life a little, even on a weekend, to get rid of a little of the pressure and stress.

It's not a big deal.

He is not alone.

The hands are turning too fast. The hour goes by without him realizing it. He is drowned in the toxicity of these parties and in the constant paranoia that feeling of not being completely in the right place. As if something was wrong.

He sits by the pool, lets his legs soak in the water. Like a daze, like outside of it. Outside of everything. Where time does not seem to have any hold and yet be more fatal to him than ever. 

His heart never gets used to the feeling he has. This feeling of living surrounded without being, with a lack too present in the back of his mind. He misses everything and nothing, he misses something in particular, but his mind never seems to find what and always forgets before he has time to think about it enough. What a strange way.

But at this hour, when he's not fully conscious, not fully awake, he feels the lack with a force that almost slaps him. Which prevents him from breathing and compresses his chest without stopping. It hurts, it hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much ?

And why does he feel so lonely ?

He is appreciated by all, he doesn’t know if he has known this before. Being here, surrounded, warms him from the inside. Everyone smiles at him and appreciates him but it's not enough. It’s never enough. Because it never fills the void he feels deep inside.

His fist tightens on his knee. His surroundings seem blurry for a moment and it is not a last ditch effort that he manages to stabilize his vision. Painful, almost, ringing in his ears. 

He needs to breathe.

He only belatedly notices a person settling down next to him. He's about to ask for a little more time, he needs more time alone, convinced that this is one of those girls who keeps coming and going around him but his words get stuck in his throat.

This is definitely not a girl.

The stranger from earlier, changed into loose shorts, stripped of his cap and sunglasses. He looks down, cheeks almost red. An immediate reaction. What is he doing here, huh ? He breathes deeply.

“Nice place.” 

“Yeah ... I ... don't think I know you ?”

The other man tilts his head to the side, puzzled, before, as if he had been enlightened, nodding vaguely. 

“Let's say I'm a friend.”

“Shouldn't I know you for that ?”

This sentence makes his one evening companion laugh. But even that sound seems soft to his ears, too soft. It's not sharp and dry and too loud like all the people here. Not imbued with confidence and pretense. It sounds perfect.

“Lance, you know …”

The stranger reaches out a hand towards him but retracts it when Lance recoils, a hurt look appearing on his features for a moment. He blames himself for hurting him but he doesn't like … to be touched. In general. No matter how much this stranger makes him feel comfortable or not.

“You're not alone. Or at least, you are less alone than you think. I promise you.”

“You promise something you don't know anything about.”

His interlocutor then stops looking at him, instead turning his gaze to the horizon, a sad smile illuminating his features. As if devoured by something bigger, that no one knows, a secret.

Strangely … he would like to kiss him. He would like to kiss that look to make it disappear from his face, with the firm conviction that this doesn’t suit him. This unchanging need that he doesn’t understand himself. This feels so strange and yet, he feels like he needs to do that.

After all, he has always been directed more towards girls. As far as he knows, the girls caught his eyes. Not the men, no matter how beautiful they were. Why does everything seem so different tonight ? A special atmosphere, a special feeling that awoke in him. Something else, something more precious.

But in the meantime, he doesn't make any gesture and the stranger just nods before getting up, basically, as if he's expecting it. Almost disappointed, he seems disappointed. Lance also doesn't like the fact of having disappointed him, of having disappointed his expectations, although again how could he know what this man expects from him, what he wants ? He doesn't know him !

“I know a little too much, on the contrary.”

And this meeting of an instant, this mirage, touches him one last time, a gentle caress, before entering the villa, getting lost in the crowd, disappearing behind some other faces all around.

Nostalgic, of an extreme nostalgia, he stays by the pool, his gaze lost in the vague. He feels on edge, at the end of his tether, this meeting, which nevertheless tastes like reunion, has tired him in a way that nothing had been able to do until then. Nothing here could have evoked in him so many contradictory emotions, battling in his head. And that’s what tires him so much.

He is out of breath, his chest hurts. He doesn't want these feelings, he doesn't want this discord. He wants calm and order, he wants silence. Maybe people don't care about him, but at least leave him alone. At least, may he be left alone.

To be loved, adored, acclaimed … 

Popularity is good, but it also makes him feel terribly alone. Because it's none of what he might have expected. Because it doesn't console anyone, it doesn't help anyone and in the end, when at three in the morning, you’re awake staring at the ceiling, tormented by your own thoughts, fame saves nothing. 

He sighs before getting up in turn, ready to sink into oblivion and drown in alcohol, or rather drown his worries in alcohol. He knows it’s not like it would fix anything but he wants to forget a bit.

He wants to stop thinking about it, stop thinking.

* * *

Lance remembers drinking all night and dancing on the tables, accompanied by dozens of people dancing next to him. He has another girl by his side, different from the one from the first night. He doesn't pay any more attention and gets up before putting on some clothes and going down into the living room. Similar to the previous morning uh.

Many are still sleeping and in the end, he throws himself headlong into the pool to wake up and it feels good. Really. He feels like his thoughts are sorting out themselves and it's much better that way. He doesn’t want to do that. What was the reason for all these emotions yesterday …?

He stops, catching his breath, his head in his arms, against the ledge. He tries to remember everything that has happened but the effort is too complex. He rubs his eyes, feeling like he's missing something. He’s always running after something.

A tray is slid in front of him. Breakfast. He's surprised and looks up to find a tall, slim boy with mischievous brown eyes, and suddenly it comes back to his face. This is the one he was talking to yesterday, the conversation, what he wanted to forget about. He growls.

“What do I owe the honor of such a breakfast ?”

“Hello, first of all, yes. And you seemed to be drooling about it yesterday, I thought I could give you a little present.”

“And can I have the name of my benefactor ?”

One thing he forgot to ask. Maybe because he had no idea that he was going to meet this stranger again anytime soon. It was so strange … seeing him again is just as strange. It's like there is this special atmosphere coming back. He smiles, the thought isn't funny, but somewhere comforting. A familiar feeling deep in his chest. He recognizes it all.

“Esteban.”

He waits for the name to call to mind something, perhaps memories, but after several moments he is disappointed to find nothing. There’s nothing at all. He ends up simply nodding his head and starting breakfast. 

It's good. One squeezed orange juice just before, two butter toast and it's not even coffee, it's hot chocolate. Surprising choice. Almost childish ?

“A hot chocolate ?”

Esteban shrugs and sits down next to him, one leg dipping into the pool, the other pulled up to his chest, just observing him. Reflexively, he blows on the top of the cup before taking a sip and it's-

This taste …

It only reminds him of one thing. The evenings in the big house, only between them, and their mother who made them hot chocolate. Her special recipe as she liked to call it, as they liked to call it too. He misses those moments, that’s true. He suddenly feels a stifling nostalgia.

A second sip fails to stifle the sensation that takes him by the throat. Then after this sequence, a different kind of surprise. How and why does Esteban know this recipe ? He stares at the cup before detailing the man in front of him. He looks for an explanation and he looks for something more.

“How …”

“Something’s wrong ?”

And it seems so normal to Esteban, that for a second, he falters and has a doubt. Are these just his impressions? No, he still has these memories. Those memories that are his and his only. He knows that this is not normal, that it is not within the reach of everyone. He needs explanations.

“Who the hell are you ?”

Much more patient than him, Esteban shakes his head, before resuming in the same tone, seeming unperturbed :

“I already told you. A friend.”

“I don’t have any !” he cries out, violently. He needed to let that come out. 

It’s true. He doesn’t have it. He has the feeling of having some, he has the feeling of being surrounded, constantly, there are flows of people around him, always and always. But in the end who stays ? Who are the ones that can say such a thing ? In the end, who sits next to him, takes his hand when things are not going well, who is there to hold him in his arms and let him confide in when he needs it ?

There is nobody. It's terribly empty. He is adored by people who never look further than what he offers them and as a result he is perfectly alone. Loved but alone. On top of the world but without actually having someone to stand by his side. And holy crap that hurts. He can admit it freely.

He doesn't have time to react as Esteban pulls the tray aside and leans forward, resting both palms of his hands over his eyes, leaving him in complete darkness. An almost awkward gesture and pose. 

“What do you see ?”

“Don't be silly, you just blinded me. There is nothing, absolutely nothing. It's dark and I'm alone again. Black is all there is.”

“There you are, this is what you should see when you open your eyes. Emptiness, nothing. You will have to wake up at one point or another. It doesn't matter now or later, take all your time, I won't disappear. I would do anything not to disappear. I'll be there, you know. And I'll wait for you as long as it takes. You hear ? I will wait for you. I am waiting for you.” a whisper, barely a whisper. Why does it seem so persistent then ? Those words making their way through his head …

When Lance is free to see again, his stomach is turned. He can't put a name on all the emotions he feels, he never can, it's just too much. He doesn't understand why Esteban has such an influence on him, why all his words seem to mark him with a hot iron. There is a void in him. He didn't pay attention to it until then, but the more time goes by, the more obvious it becomes. It’s blatantly obvious at some point.

He is not complete.

Tears roll down his cheeks, of their own accord. The water around him has turned cold but he only realizes it now. He shivers, from the inside, like an echo that keeps reverberating through him. Why is he crying ? Why does the fog in his head seem so thick ? Why can’t he be just fine ?

Esteban smiled gently at him, placing a kiss on his wet cheek, before straightening up and walking away as fast as he came, disappearing once more into the crowd, like Cinderella called back by the twelfth stroke of midnight.

He would like to ask him to stay but he doesn't even know if it's the right thing to do. What would be the right thing to do ? Why can’t he stay a bit longer by his side ? Chasing this despairing feeling of loneliness ? He has the impression of advancing blindly, of chaining decisions that could turn out to be the worst later. For now, it's hard to have a clear vision of the future, of everything that awaits him.

Strangely out of time.

As if nothing was real, as if nothing could reach him. Once again.

Apart from Esteban who seems like a real break in his world. A singularity that shows itself a little more at each meeting. They see each other and everything changes. He feels like he has to cherish these moments, to have to keep them with him a little longer. He already regrets having wanted to forget their first meeting.

He contemplates the tray that still faces him, the toast that has been started, the cup not completely finished, and climbs out of the water to cleanly finish this meal that has been prepared for him.

* * *

Lance dances in the middle of the crowd. One glass too many. He feels like everything revolves around him, he isn't dizzy, doesn't feel dizzy, it's a literal impression. This world which awaits only him, which wants only him, that the events concern all. It’s all for him and it’s all his.

His clothes are a little too eccentric and he's wearing those pink shorts that would have earned him too many derogatory remarks but nobody here cares. Here, he can be whoever he wants, he can lose sight of himself and that won't change the outcome in the end. He’s the only one to choose, here.

He makes clear differentiations without even knowing why. His thoughts are neither coordinated nor comprehensible. Everything is in a mess. His heart, in his chest, which still beats a little too fast, a little too painfully, as if to signify that he was still alive, is too. It turns out he’s messing up everything.

Nothing is light and dark in the darkest decadence he has ever experienced. Is it a bad thing though ? 

He's having fun.

He spins another girl at arm's length before letting go and continuing his solo. In the midst of all, in the midst of no one, following a choreography known only to him. This is what suits him best in complexion, loneliness in the background. Some songs he knows by heart coming out of the speakers.

A body that sticks to his. Two arms around his waist, as if to stabilize his hellish tango. The warmth is familiar, so is this presence. They stay in this position for several minutes, dancing, following movements, without ever looking at each other. They don’t need to look at each other.

And, what was it already …?

Ah yes, love is blind.

He finally turns around, after a poorly controlled pirouette that his partner barely catches up to, and there they are face to face. Esteban's eyes almost sparkle, that same sparkle with which he hasn't stopped looking at him with. It makes him feel special. So, so special. The most special in this whole universe.

They dance for a moment, twirl, and he feels his heart pounding in his temples every time he looks up and Esteban is still looking at him. Without ever taking his eyes off him, without ever moving back. So he comes closer in turn, he comes closer, and again and again. Always closer.

Until their lips meet.

The feeling of finding something that he has lost. It's not the first time and he feels happy to tell himself that it's not the last either. Oh gosh, it’s not the last. Esteban's arms grip his waist, cradling him a little better against him, and they are having a bit of a hard time pulling apart.

With a tacit agreement, because he feels the need to discover a little better this person who seems to know him so well, Esteban takes his hand and leads him to his room. 

The scene is almost ridiculous. Their eagerness causes them to stumble down the stairs and narrowly catch up to each other. Again to kiss, a little too much eagerness inhabits them. They are too impatient. He laughs, free and happy and accompanied, and Esteban devours him again with his eyes.

As if he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

* * *

Lance swallows his disappointment by getting up alone. His bedroom is a mess and shows his antics of the night, but the place next to him has been cold for a little too long. He feels almost sad. A sigh escapes him as he gets up and tries to find clean clothes among those littering the floor.

Something that prevents him from remembering it.

His feelings fight in his chest, asks to go out, and despite everything he knows nothing about Esteban except his name. And he doesn't know why he claims to know so much about him or why he owns his mother's recipe. That’s very strange for him.

Why does Esteban seem to stand out so much in this world ? Why was there … this aura, this particular feeling around him ?

He didn't know, still didn't understand.

And the fact of not seeing Esteban all day makes him irritable. Questions assail him by ten. It's as if his brain is stuck on a fixed point. That nothing seemed to be able to distract him. He needs to know, he has to know.

The evening comes too slowly for his liking. The partygoers wake up. When is the party going to end ? The days pass in a total blur. Nothing changes, nothing changed. Until they pick up people at the airport. At this point, everything seemed to become different, even slightly.

And from that moment, more than anything, his life began to revolve around the momentary appearances of Esteban. But why does he never stay ? Why does he always leave too quickly ? Why, why and why ?

Lance sits down by the pool, the echoes of the music echoing inside still reaching him, and decides to wait. He'll wait until dawn if he has to. He has decided. His determination is strong. He needs explanations. He needs more than vague words which only thicken the mystery a little more each time.

He doesn’t, however, have to wait until dawn.

He's on his second drink, a cocktail, although he doesn't know what's in it. That’s bad but at least it has a great taste. He watches the horizon, his mind totally absent. Sometimes it's good not to have to think about it and just sit there.

There is noise, footsteps approaching and a body slipping against his. 

“You weren't there when I woke up, Este.”

“I couldn't stay too long.” his companion whispers in his ear.

“But you never stay long.”

“In order for me to stay, you'll have to wake up first.”

He lets out a breath. Almost annoyed. He seems to know the answer to everything. Esteban slips an arm around his waist to bring him a little closer to him.

“I think it's hard to imagine living in an illusion.”

“It's not that hard to imagine. Or at least it's not that hard to want it to be an illusion. I was so lonely here, I'm so lonely here every time you go, I …”

“Alone ? I wish I didn't leave you, Lance. But if I want to stay here a little longer, I have to be careful. If I want to bring you back.”

“Bring me back ?”

Esteban has a small smile and turns his head to come and kiss his lips again. It's a gesture that seems so natural, so easy for him. Derisory. So what for Lance ? He feels himself blushing with a new modesty. It's familiar but it's not enough. But it warms him from the inside.

“There is a world beyond all of this. And you know what's amazing ? There, we are both F1 drivers. You've been my boyfriend for two years now but I think I've loved you a lot longer than that.”

It seems so easy to imagine. He closes his eyes and the image materializes in front of him. Different from here, different in a way. He could almost stroke the idea with his fingertips, it feels so real to him. It feels so real, gosh.

“We got together during my year off. We argued, I don't even remember the reasons, I think I wanted to hit you. But instead I kissed you and that changed everything between us. I was sure I had done something stupid, but you … you grabbed me by the arm and told me …” 

“That I've been waiting for you to take that first step for so long.” he adds in a hoarse voice.

Esteban turns to look at him, eyes shining, wet already, but Lance doesn’t even pay attention. Overwhelmed by what is stronger, what far exceeds this universe. A scene that takes shape and that unlocks so many memories with it. It's like an explosion, it's like regaining your sight after being blinded for years. It’s so special.

It's almost painful, he's having trouble breathing. The world seems to change, to turn around. Everything changes. Everything is changing and that’s terrifying somehow. That should be terrifying.

“Lance ?”

A quake. Esteban immediately gets up, with a fearful look on his face. Is the earth shaking ? There are so many memories … so many things he remembers … he doesn't know if it's the world around him shaking or if he's the one shaking. What’s the worst ?

“Damn, that's all I was afraid of. Lance, if you wanna see me-”

Esteban's image blurs for a moment. As if there were parasites. Lance gets up in turn, stretches out his hand towards the Frenchman, but his very figure seems to have trouble stabilizing. Already disappearing, somehow.

“Again evolved, they're trying to get me out of here. Lance, please. You have to wake up. Promise me to wake up.”

Esteban leans forward and kisses him deeply, with an intimacy that would make more than one pale. All their previous kisses have nothing to do with it, have nothing in common with this one. It seems the older one is desperately clinging to his lips. 

When Lance opens his eyes again, Esteban is missing. He vanished away.

People around too. The villa behind him is still there, the landscape too. It’s almost terrifyingly calm, he takes a while to adjust to the return of his memories. He already misses Esteban's warmth. He has to get out of here now. That’s surely what’s expected of him. Just a bit more and he’ll have him back.

“This world doesn’t exist … I should have expected it. The reality is not the same, maybe a little more unpleasant, but if there is Esteban, I think it will be fine.”

There is a crackle, like shattering glass, and a sharp crack appears on the horizon. His surroundings dissolve. And in the middle of it all, there is a silhouette that stands out. There is someone in the middle of the ruins, sad looking, standing still, staring at him as he disappears. 

“You-”

Everything becomes dark.

* * *

Lance wakes up with a start, panting. He finds it difficult to calm his breathing down. What was that ? A shiver runs through him, the person's features are already disappearing, he can’t remember it, but there was indeed someone standing in the middle of his dream. What does it mean ?

“Lance ? Lance, are you okay ?”

Esteban is careful and keeps his distance, letting him wake up cleanly. He throws himself into his arms. The warmth he finds makes him breathe a soft sigh. He feels much better, much more complete, happy, than all this time spent in another reality. It’s like he can be himself once again.

“The others went off trying to wake someone else up, I didn't really listen, I was focused on you.” explains French to him with a smile. “Are you okay ? Have you fully come back to your senses ?”

“Yes, I … yes.”

Esteban's face lights up considerably, delighted, and he comes to kiss his lips. Their first real kiss. Awake and alive. He lets himself go, before coming to himself considerably and pushing his boyfriend away slightly. Just a bit, just enough to talk.

“Wait, wait, Este, I have something to say.”

The French pouts, not satisfied of having to pull away from him already, but listens to him attentively, still keeping an arm around his waist.

“There was someone. In the middle of the dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly trying to advance towards some ruins of a scenario ... of a real reason. I'm clumsy and not yet decided about that issue yet. But anyway ... this chapter was slower than the others, showing another kind of relationship, I hope you did like it !


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